


Delusions of Divinity

by storyspinner70



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Implied/Referenced Torture, Kidnapped Sam Winchester, M/M, Tortured Sam Winchester, Wincest Writing Challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-10-01 16:22:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17247467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storyspinner70/pseuds/storyspinner70
Summary: Wincest Writing Challenge: (February - Flowers) | @casafrass vs. @storyspinner70Prompt: Black Eyed SusansRating: Mature | Wordcount: 884 |Tags/Warnings: #wincestwritingchallenge, #wincest, #canondivergent, #casefic #wip #nocluewhatimdoingNote: This quickly got out of control. It was going to be a simple, fast case that wasn’t even theirs, but…here we are. So this first part is for this month’s entry, and I’ll continue it for next month’s entry so things don’t get so out of control. I wasn’t looking for a multi-work thing, but I think I talk too much in general, so it makes sense my fic is the same.





	1. Chapter 1

Written for the February and March 2018 Wincest Writing Challenge.

 

**Delusions of Divinity**

Dean woke up fast, his brother’s knee in his back. “Get up, lazy. I got a hunt for us.”

Dean just hunkered down, feeling the rub of the stiff sheets against his hard cock. “Great. Awesome. Fabulous. Come suck my dick.”

“Go jerk off in the shower and let’s go. This one’s important.”

Dean just undulated a couple more times and then rolled over lazily. “How important?”

“They call him the black eyed killer.”

“Fuck.”

“Yeah.”

“Where we headed?”

“Paris, Texas.”

“Yeehaw.”

**

“There hasn’t been a lot of demon activity lately. Wonder where this guy came from.”

“Lord only knows, but I don’t see any of the normal signs – no unusual storms or anything. And, it could be the police just keeping it out of the papers, but there’s no real details on the murders either, just his name and the fact that most are stabbed.”

“Angels?”

“I don’t know. It’s hard to tell from what we know right now. I hacked their system and still didn’t find much.”

Dean calculated for a moment. “That is weird. We’ll be there around supper. We’ll see what we can dig up.”

**

“So, not our thing at all?”

“No. The black eyed came from the flowers he left at every scene.”

“Flowers?”

“Yeah,” Sam answered scrolling through his phone. “Apparently, Black Eyed Susans mean justice.”

“So he’s some kind of vigilante or something?”

“Maybe, I mean the first few people killed were cheating on their spouses, apparently. One more was in an accident when they were younger and three people died. They were put on probation, and lived quietly ever since, though, so I don’t know. No one seems to be sure about the last one, either. Seemed like a typical pillar of the community, you know?”

“He probably deserved it, then.”

“Dean, come on.”

“I know, I know. Sometimes people really are good.”

“Probably not that one,” Sam concedes, “but yeah.”

“So, I guess we’ll leave in the morning then.”

“Yeah, it’s not really our thing, and as much as I’d like to help them, I’m sure there’s something else we need to be doing instead.”

“Let’s get out of here and find a motel, then.”

**

The night was like any other. They found a motel, carried their stuff in, and Sam started laying salt lines while Dean went to get them food and beer. Sam had just stepped into the shower when he heard the door rattle. Assuming it was Dean, he shouted he’d be out in a minute.

It wasn’t that weird that Dean didn’t respond, so he thought nothing about it until he felt the plastic shower curtain close around his body. “What the fuck, Dean? I’m almost done.”

“Not your brother, Sammy.”

Sam froze for a moment, then started to struggle in earnest.

“Shh. None of that, now.” Sam felt a sharp pain in his arm, the plastic shower curtain clammy against his skin as he became less able to struggle.

“What did you…”

“Don’t worry,  you’ll just be out long enough for me to get you where I need you. I usually take care of them at the scene of their crimes, but I’d rather take care of you and your brother separately. Easier for me and less chance of escape for you.”

“Fucking,” Sam slurred, “evil hench… henchman monolog…”

The man laughed. “Indeed.”

**

Dean came back twenty minutes later, slamming the door open and raising hell about long waits for french fries and the drink machines. He kept up a steady stream of bitching until he realized that Sam wasn’t responding at all.

He did his best to slander his little brother, but there was still no answer. “Sammy?” Dean pounded on the bathroom door, and it came open with little resistance. The shower was running, the bar torn down, blood and water pooled on the floor.

He could see there was something scrawled on the floor, the letters bubbling with drops of Sam’s blood and the water from his still dripping body. The mirror over the sink was shattered, splintering from a central point too small to be a face or head, maybe Sam’s elbow or the captor’s fist. Maybe it wasn’t Sam’s blood at all.

Dean was seething. His head was pounding, the beat controlled by his heart, his temples tight, his jaw locked against a scream he didn’t need. He forced himself to look around again, realizing the scribbles on the floor were bible verses. He googled quickly, though he already had an idea what they were before he even looked.

They were verses about gay sex and incest. How the fuck had this person even known? Maybe this was something for them after all, because he hadn’t even touched Sam since they’d been here. There was no way anyone would even know they were brothers unless someone was a hunter, and even then, they’d have no clue they were more than that.

Dean gripped the sink until it started to shake on the wall. There was a medium an hour from here. Maybe she could tell him something. Grabbing Sam’s brush, he stormed out of the bathroom.

When he turned to make one last sweep of the room, he saw them.

Black Eyed Susans. One on each bed.

_Son of a bitch._


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wincest Writing Challenge: (March - Laws) | @sweet-sammy-kisses vs. @storyspinner70
> 
> Prompt: North Dakota - No Late Night Fireworks

Dean found Sam on a Tuesday. It had been two weeks, and Dean’s hope of finding Sam alive was starting to waver.

Sunday night, Dean found himself in North Dakota responding to one of many recent arrest records that matched the man’s description.

“We thought he was old Peter Jenkins out driving drunk again,” one of the officers that was on the scene told him. “The back of his truck was full of fireworks. We have a law here - no fireworks after dark. So we figured we’d pull him over ask him about the fireworks and then arrest him for being drunk. It wasn’t him though.”

“Who was it?”

“We don’t know. Coroner’s going to check fingerprints and dental records to see if we can find out. He had no ID with him, just some story about borrowing the truck from his uncle. We know everyone around here _and_ their family. We knew he was lying. When we confronted him, though, he lost it. He started screaming about a job not done and his destiny. We tried to take him alive, but he pulled a gun. He killed one of our best men. We had to shoot back.”

“Goddammit!” Dean muttered, slamming his fist into the wall.

“What were you looking for him for?”

“He’d taken a hostage. Thought he was the Hand of God or some nonsense. We were trying to find him to see if the guy was still alive.”

“We didn’t see anyone with him. We went to Jenkins farm to check on him. The man had hit him over the head with something. If we’d gotten there any later, Jenkins would be dead right now. Old man like that. And he just nailed him dead in the back of the head.” The man shook his head in disgust. “Spent his time screaming about destiny and God and he nearly beat an old man to death.”

“Take me out there. I need to look the truck over and then I need to search the area. I need to see if I can find that hostage.”

“How long has it been?”

“Two weeks or so. He traveled up from Texas, so it’s hard to tell how long he’d have been in the area.”

“Detective…” the man started.

“Dean.”

“Officer Bradley,” the man nodded. “Dean, you know it’s not likely…”

“I know. But I still need to look.”

**

The truck didn’t yield much but boxes of fireworks and fast food clutter the officers said were definitely old man Jenkins’ and shovels and lye that most certainly were not. Dean gripped a shovel in his hand and politely asked for an escort to the place they’d pulled the unknown murderer over.  

He followed the police cruiser to the spot, his eyes tracking right every few minutes, his palm pressed to the back of the passenger seat like he could still feel Sammy there. His traitorous mind tried to prepare him for the fact that he would not find Sammy, and if it he did, most certainly not alive. Not after all this time. Not after what this man did to the rest of his victims.

Dean merely turned on the music for the first time in nearly two weeks and turned it up loud enough to drown himself out. When he got out of the car after the cruiser ahead of him stopped, his ears were ringing in the sudden silence.

“How many houses around here?”

“Probably fifteen, twenty in the immediate vicinity. Jenkins’ place is over that way about a mile. Lots of small farms round this area. Lots of outbuildings and abandoned barns. We haven’t found any vehicles that shouldn’t be here, and I don’t see him walking too far…” The officer cut off abruptly.

_With a hostage,_ Dean’s mind supplied for him. Dean nodded. “I’m gonna search the area. People may be calling to ask if I’m legit.”

“We’ll handle it,” the officer nodded. “Do you want help? We can free up a couple…”

“I don’t know what I’ll find, officer, if anything at all. Don’t pull them away from stuff for me.”

“It’s no trouble, really.”

“I need to do this myself,” Dean said plainly.

The officer tightened his mouth a little, understanding and pity, stretching his smile into something sad and too familiar. “Offer stands if you need us.”

Dean just nodded.

**

It took him two days. Dean searched every side street, every holler, every overgrown spot on the side of the road. He ate when he had to and slept in Baby where she was tucked into a wide spot on the road. Everyone had heard of his search by Monday morning, and every house he went to, the people greeted him with a warm, sad smile and permission to look anywhere he wanted. For awhile, a group of children helped him look. One day, it was their mothers – brooms and hoes out to beat through the brush.

Tuesday morning had come and gone and Dean was starting to get hungry. He hadn’t eaten since lunch the day before, and his stomach was growling. He wondered how long it had been since Sam had something to eat, to drink.

He was approaching what the owner had told him was an abandoned house – the homestead he grew up in. Couldn’t stand to tear it down, but no one had lived in it in decades. He heard a tinny sound, music, maybe. He broke into a run. No one was supposed to be there.

“Sammy?” He screamed. “Sammy? Hang on, brother, I’m almost there!”

The porch was rotting and the door stood crooked in its frame, but there was a new padlock and chain punched through a weak spot in the wall to keep it closed. Dean battered his way in, kicking and slamming his shoulder into the frame until it splintered under his weight.  

“Sam?” Dean picked his way carefully through the house, dodging holes in the floor and crumbling walls. The sound was getting louder.

He found Sam in the kitchen, naked, chained to the sink. He wasn’t moving. On the ancient refrigerator was an old transistor radio tuned to what turned out to be religious station with preaching on 24/7. Dean gently reached for Sam, who was laying on his side.

He took note of all the bruises and cuts – the man had tormented Sam, that was plain. What looked like whip marks littered his body. The radio droned on until it pricked Dean’s conscious. Roaring, he jumped up and swept it off the fridge and against the wall. The plastic cracked and the batteries skittered across the floor.

It was so suddenly silent that Dean could hear Sam’s labored breath when he couldn’t before. “Sammy,” Dean whispered. “I’m going to get Baby. I found you, Sam. I will always find you. I’ll be right back.”

Dean maneuvered Baby over the pockmarked ground, pulling as close to the porch as he could. Running back inside, he wrapped Sam in some of their blankets and carried him to Baby. They had been at the hospital for hours before he thought that perhaps he should tell the police that he’d found Sam and where. It was another half an hour before he realized he hadn’t needed to.

**

Dean and Sam were sitting in a field. Dusk was falling and the fireflies were scattering – running from the screaming children trying to put them in a jar and take them home. Families shifted together, patterns long held, individual to each one, but all fluid – dancers in the low light.

Sam had been out of the hospital for three days. He and Dean were leaving tomorrow, if Dean could allow Sam out of his grip by then. He didn’t think he’d let go of him the weeks they’d been there other than long enough for one of them to piss or Sam to be poked and prodded – not even to talk to the police when it came time.

He’d stared directly at the officers anytime they came by the hospital, hands wrapped around any part of Sam he could touch at the moment. They’d merely clasped his shoulder and said they were glad he’d found him, the softness of their fingers and eyes adding things no one wanted to say out loud.

Before long it was fully dark, and officer Bradley plopped down near them, dragging his girlfriend, pale and small and beautiful, down with him. Dean wondered idly how much longer they’d have to stay. They were only here because everyone had been so helpful.

In moments, whispers started and the children quickly found their places, their eyes swinging wildly around the space. Sam frowned, trying to figure out what was going on. A few minutes later. Fireworks exploded, the children screaming to see if they could be louder than the noise, people dodging the detritus falling from the sky.

Dean turned to officer Bradley, his face bathed in the garish light of the bursting pyrotechnics. “I thought these were illegal at night,” he said.

The policeman merely reached across and patted Dean on the back. “Sometimes you just need a little beauty to remind you things aren’t all bad.”

Dean gazed at Sam, who smiled back, his face excited even though he was trying to hide it. “Yeah,” Dean replied. “Yeah.”


End file.
